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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28658097">Den of Thieves</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaleNoFace/pseuds/PaleNoFace'>PaleNoFace</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Smeet Army AU [13]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Invader Zim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alien Abduction, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Dib (Invader Zim), Hurt Zim (Invader Zim), Kidnapping, Language Barrier, Light Angst, M/M, Older Dib (Invader Zim), POV Zim (Invader Zim), Rescue Missions, Tall Zim (Invader Zim), Zim doesn't like that he has morals now, as in abduction of aliens</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:41:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,533</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28658097</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaleNoFace/pseuds/PaleNoFace</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"<em>Can't believe they pulled a reverse alien abduction on me.</em>"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dib &amp; Zim (Invader Zim), Dib/Zim (Invader Zim)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Smeet Army AU [13]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658659</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>83</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Den of Thieves</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This one is a lil dusty, I pulled it out of the back just for you.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When they come, Zim isn't surprised. Mildly annoyed, yes, deeply unnerved, sure, but not surprised.</p><p> </p><p>He heard them coming, once the roaring fire of his trashed spaceship has died down a little - and he knows they heard him, too. He hasn't been especially discreet upon arrival.</p><p> </p><p>"I don't have time for this-"</p><p> </p><p>He is cut by a punch to the jaw. Something crunches, and for a second he really hopes it's bone and not his translator, or else he's in a whole other kind of trouble.</p><p> </p><p>He stumbles a couple of feet back, hands flying to his face, the tangy taste of pink blood filling his mouth, eyes squinting into a glare. There are three of them - nothing Zim's amazing training can't deal with. He's not the little Smeet who stumbled upon Earth pretty much by accident once upon a time, he's a full-grown alien with a lethal weaponry to back him up.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING !</em>" he barks, furious, only to realize he's speaking Irken - rest in peace, sweet translator.</p><p> </p><p>The three humans, of course, don't understand him, and only step closer menacingly. Goddammit. He doesn't have time for this, he has been away for weeks, and he really wants to go home already and take long nap with the kids and cuddle with his mate, and these three assholes don't seem to want to let him go.</p><p> </p><p>He isn't even wearing his disguise - why would he ? It was supposed to be a simple back and forth between Earth and Vultura ! He was supposed to land at the base !</p><p> </p><p>The human on the right, tall and thick and generally looking the caricatural brawn-over-brain type, flicks their wrist and something shines in their hand- <em>fuck</em>, Zim knows what this is. Dib used to have one of these little fuckers around. The telescopic electric staff hits the ground half a second after his feet leave it, and Zim finds himself propped up high on his PAK legs, spitting and hissing in his best impression of a wild cat. Gus and Noods would be proud to know they taught their father something.</p><p> </p><p>He circles the three assholes, eyeing the crash site for any escape route. Unfortunately, he landed himself in the middle of the forest around the Big City, and all his coms are fried at this point. It's not like he has a- Oh.</p><p> </p><p><em>Riiiight</em>, his distress beacon. That's a thing, now.</p><p> </p><p>He feels it click inside his PAK, sending an alert to the Computer back home - maybe, if he's lucky and manages to keep these fools away long enough, Dib will pinpoint his exact position and come collect him. Maybe they'll even have time to grab pizza on their way home. GIR would be happy to get both Zim and pizza.</p><p> </p><p>...He's losing sight of the objective here. One thing at a time.</p><p> </p><p>(Damn, his head hurts.)</p><p> </p><p>Under him, the humans are gasping, eyes wide and jaws dropping at his display of artificial limbs and fine engineering. The staff swipes again, but Zim dodges it easily enough.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Fuck off !</em>" Zim snaps. "<em>I don't want to fight you, you miserable worms ! GET LOST ! SCRAM !</em>"</p><p> </p><p>The one in the middle, an average-looking, middle-aged human with a gas mask, fumbles with a pair of handcuffs. The third, a short, skinny-looking teen, is shaking head to toe despite the tranq gun in their grasp.</p><p> </p><p>Heh. Nothing Zim hasn't seen before. He dodges another strike, and the staff crackles with an electric arc - he is so not touching this. The human in the middle, apparently the leader, makes a few hand gestures to the kid, who shakily rises the gun.</p><p> </p><p>Now, the thing is, under normal circumstances, Zim would totally dodge anything coming out of it, taken barely a second to disarm the kid and turn it against the other two. Under normal circumstances, Zim would not have been through a state of the art spaceship crash. Under normal circumstances, Zim would not be suffering from a minor concussion and several deep cuts all over his body that are slowly but surely bleeding him dry.</p><p> </p><p>Under normal circumstances, Zim would have no trouble at all dealing with this shit.</p><p> </p><p>Those, however, are not normal circumstances.</p><p> </p><p>This is why, while keeping his eyes on the kid with the gun, he forgets for a second about the electric staff, and it's just enough for the big oaf to slam it into his ribs, strong enough to make something crack.</p><p> </p><p>Zim is going to end up with <em>so many</em> broken bones, and not even in the fun way.</p><p> </p><p>Stunned, electricity running rampant through his system, he barely avoids the tranq dart, rolls over in the wet grass, feels his PAK click and hiss with the effort of shoving him back on his feet and taking out a laser gun and-</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Ugh, right, no killing</em>," he mutters to himself, rolling his eyes at the little mental Dib he keeps around at all times and who is currently glaring him down until he puts the gun away.</p><p> </p><p>He dives, rolling more or less gracefully between the leader's legs - sue him, everything hurts, he has no time nor patience to finesse his way out of this mess - and scrambles to get out of reach, maybe find some cover under the trees.</p><p> </p><p>He is not fast enough.</p><p> </p><p>The staff slams against his back, sending him to smash against the nearest trunk, and Zim sees stars. Like, white spots and reds lights and little yellow dots that he is definitely not supposed to see right now. Someone - the big one, most probably - leans over him and pulls him up by the PAK, fuck, <em>it pulls on his entire spine-</em></p><p> </p><p><br/>The sharp sting of a needle being stabbed into his shoulder steals him a cry, and suddenly everything is weird and swimming, fuck, the colors are all wrong-</p><p> </p><p>The colors and the stars leave him all alone, and he falls.<br/> </p><p> </p><p>He's surprisingly lucid, the next time he comes back to himself.</p><p> </p><p>He's laying on his side on a cold ground, his PAK a stark contrast with how hot it runs. Zim blinks, and takes in the rest of his body. His cuts still ache, in that hollow sort of way all of his wounds usually do when they're half-way healed. His head is heavy, but no longer painful. His eyes hurt. His shoulder is killing him. He coughs and croaks, clears his throat of the muddy blood obstructing it.</p><p> </p><p>Jesus fucking Christ. <em>Fucking Irk</em>. What did he step into, this time ?</p><p> </p><p>He rolls over, annoyed, glancing over the white walls and large windows giving into the next room. There are more people than just the three that attacked him. A few of them wear lab coats, and he feels a sudden pang in his chest at the sight - he really wants to see Dib right now. Others are in regular human clothing, and all are staring at him in wide-eyed wonder.</p><p> </p><p>Zim is dumb sometimes, but he's far from stupid. He's a genius, actually. A mad genius, obviously, but still. He even has one of those human doctorates, as if it means anything to him-</p><p> </p><p>He's losing the point again.</p><p> </p><p>The point is that he's not stupid : he knows what this is. It's a laboratory, and these fuckers are probably very happy to get the local alien under wraps. To <em>study</em> him. Maybe even to cut him open. (Fuck, he hasn't been hit by the fear of being cut into scientific little pieces since freaking Skool. How pathetic is that ?)</p><p> </p><p>He pulls himself into a sitting position. A few people gasp and scramble to get a closer look at him. He doesn't care - he leans against the wall, the chilliness of it welcome against his overheating PAK. Something broke in there, because he can't manage to open the hatches. It's completely stuck, and it's kind of burning his back's skin to a crisp.</p><p> </p><p>At least he managed to activate his beacon before his internal machinery fucked up. That must count for something, right ? Dib will know he's in trouble, and come to get him- unless Zim somehow manages to save his own ass. Whatever comes first.</p><p> </p><p><br/>But without weapons and with so many eyes on him, his chances to get out of there unscathed are slim. Too slim for his liking. He'll have to sit tight for now and wait until there are at least fewer witnesses.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The first hours are Hell. Zim can see the human that caught him - the average, unremarkable one - give explanations with wide arm gestures. The glass separating them is thick, not even glass in his humble opinion, but he manages to hear them say about him speaking English before he got sucker-punched in the face.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Good luck trying to make him speak anything but Irken now, fuckers.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>His internal clock is busted, and there is no natural light in there, but considering it was night when he landed, and he has been out of it for maybe a couple of hours, it has to be early morning right now.</p><p> </p><p>There are still people, watching him like a group of hawks (a float ? a committee ? Artie would know.) and waiting for any movement from his part. Zim is not going to give them the satisfaction of even reacting, so he sits quietly in his corner, as still as he can manage, and schools his face in the most bored expression possible.</p><p> </p><p>He knows humans don't really know where he's looking when out of disguise : Dib is of course an exception, this man has had too much training over the years, but Zita has seen him once or twice without his lenses and loudly voiced her discomfort at not being able to tell what he was looking at. So he knows he can stare around the lab without them scribbling furiously on their tablets.</p><p> </p><p>There's a door in the far end of the room, people coming and going. The rest is filled with desks and medical equipment - none of it as advanced as the one he has back home, but what can you expect from humans ?</p><p> </p><p>He could kill for a snack right now.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He's lucky he doesn't have to sleep.</p><p> </p><p>They've been trying to talk to him, get any kind of reaction at all, but he just sits there and waits. He can't help but make microexpressions, though, and some scientists have to leave the room, furious when they realize he absolutely is mocking the way they're baby-talking to him.</p><p> </p><p>Motherfuckers, he's fluent in five human languages when his translator works, he doesn't need the dumbed-down version ! These idiots haven't even thought of giving him anything to write on.</p><p> </p><p>To be fair, they're quite entertaining to watch, skittering around the room the second he shifts to uncross his legs, ready to take a picture as soon as he yawns. They're stupid, but in an entertaining kind of way. Like watching puppies trying to learn tricks.</p><p> </p><p>He has no sympathy for these random humans. The only ones he care about are not here, anyway. He wonders how the Membranes are the same species as these sentient bipedal slugs. Then again, Membrane himself is a renowned professor, Dib has an exceptionally large brain, and Gaz is probably not even human.</p><p> </p><p>His wounds have stopped pulsing.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He settles down for a nap, body lax but antennae tense, aware of the comings and goings on the other side of the glass. Gives himself a little bit of a show, really. Funny how humans have no sense of boundaries the second they don't consider the other an equal. He's had to bite fingers off the second a probe has come into view.</p><p> </p><p>Look with your eyes, not your hands. The first rule they taught Noods around the lab.</p><p> </p><p>Ugh, he wants to hug his daughter so bad. Everyone, really. He's been craving their contact barely a day after leaving Earth. He can't wait to go home. As soon as these dumbasses release their attention, or Dib comes to break him out. Either way, he's going to gather everyone in a big pile on the couch and sleep for a week.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He starts pacing when it's become clear they aren't going anywhere any time soon. They're relaying each-other, Zim has realized after way too long, and they just keep observing him with owlish stares and open mouths.</p><p> </p><p>So he's been walking. His cage isn't all that big, but he's getting restless and he can't really pull out his longer legs to climb around - his PAK is still stuck, still overheating, and he's certain he's going to have burn marks for days after this is all over.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...Dib received his alert, right ? He has to. He's probably looking for him right now - hacking his way into every surveillance network known to man with Gus' help. Scanning chatrooms on the deep web for any alien-related activity.</p><p> </p><p>He's looking for him. Of course he's looking for him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>One of the scientists is more stubborn than the others, and their coworkers' blood on Zim's chin doesn't seem to deter them all that much. They keep talking to him, asking questions in perfect English, asking the same things over and over.</p><p> </p><p>"Who are you ? What are you ? How many of you are there ? How long have you been on Earth ? Do you understand me ? What is that thing on your back ?"</p><p> </p><p>Zim is tired. He's taking another nap.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They give him an energy bar and a soda when he refuses the bottled water and the raw meat. He slips the bar in his sweatshirt's pocket the second they have their eyes off him and idly sips his beverage. It's not Poop Cola, but he'll take it over the taste of blood still coating his tongue.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He thinks it has been a couple of days.</p><p> </p><p>Give or take a few hours.</p><p> </p><p>His PAK gives out a loud hiss and creaks and clicks, and Zim grits his teeth through it. He keeps trying to open it, reach for a weapon or a leg, anything to get him out, but the hatches are still stubbornly closed.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Meditating has never been his strong suit, but Dib does it sometimes in the lab. Zim tries to imitate him, legs crossed neatly, back ramrod straight, hands on his knees, deep breaths he doesn't need.</p><p> </p><p>It doesn't make time pass any faster.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He's losing track of time.</p><p> </p><p>He knows it's past ten at night, because one of the people closest to him has a digital watch conveniently turned his way, but what day is it ?</p><p> </p><p>He's starting to think he's not getting out any time soon.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They finally thought of giving him something to write.</p><p> </p><p>The face they make when they see what he's written is absolutely golden. He supposes it's not everyday they get told to "GO FUCK YOURSELVES" in cursive, followed by an anatomically correct drawing of a dick.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They finally leave him alone.</p><p> </p><p>Zim wastes no time in unlatching his PAK from his back to give himself a bit of break without fifteen scientists breathing down his neck.</p><p> </p><p>He forces one of the hatches open - he will fix it when he's at home, but right now he really need to fix whatever's gone wrong in there. Shoving his fingers in the crack, he tugs a couple of wires free and gets to work. First of all, he needs to turn off whatever is causing so much heat in there.</p><p> </p><p> <br/>He didn't think to check for a camera.</p><p> </p><p><em>Stupid, stupid Zim</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He's had to fight off six different people trying to pry his PAK off of him. Lots of fingers have been lost in the battle, but none of them are his.</p><p> </p><p>His PAK remains untouched and safely buzzing against his spine.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>What the fuck is taking Dib so long ?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They tried to gas him. Lucky for him, he doesn't need to breathe.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Considering how stupid they've been so far about it, it comes as a surprise to Zim that they think of using the electric staff again.</p><p> </p><p>He fucking hates the staff.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Dib wouldn't leave him behind. He wouldn't. He's just... Probably having a hard time tracking him down. Yeah, that has to be it.</p><p> </p><p>Dib wouldn't abandon him, right ? They're nemeses. They're mates. A package deal. Never one without the other. Right ?</p><p> </p><p>He is obviously looking for him. He has to be.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He gets stabbed in the spooch. It hurts like all Hell, but it's not as bad as being tasered by the staff. Everything tingles for hours on end, when they use the staff.</p><p> </p><p>At least, deep cuts are easy to heal.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He needs Dib. He needs Dib <em>right now</em>. Or else he is going to kill someone.</p><p> </p><p>Fuck Dib and his "humans are off limits" rule. If Dib doesn't rescue him, he can't be held responsible for the collateral damages of his escape.</p><p> </p><p>Anything to go home.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Someone rushes in and yells something about a hysterical robot.</p><p> </p><p>Zim tries very very hard not to get his hopes up.</p><p> </p><p>Good thing, too, because nobody mentions it again.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Good evening, folks," a familiar voice announces in the speakers and Zim immediately perks up. "You lot haven't been easy to track down, let me tell you that. I have been informed you have something of mine and I would very much like to get him back. By the way, I just so happen to have a friend here who planted a bomb somewhere in your stupid complex, and... Oh, turns out I also have a remote control connected to it. Would be a shame if I clicked on it fifteen minutes from now."</p><p> </p><p>A pause, and Zim doesn't know when he's gotten on his feet, shivering at attention at the voice, because Dib, <em>his</em> Dib has come to get him, has sent GIR to plant a bomb, and is now threatening to fuck shit up if he doesn't get Zim back.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>You absolute terror of a man</em>," he chuckles under his breath, and three of the scientists turn to him with terrorized expressions. "<em>Well ? Do you want to get blown up or what ?</em>"</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Look, man, we don't want any trouble," the talkative scientist starts, hands raised in self-defense. "If it's co-ownership of the data you're after, I'm sure we can arrange something-"</p><p> </p><p>"Shut the fuck up and release him," Dib snaps back from the other side of the parking lot, leaning menacingly against the side of a heavily modified, over-weaponized 4x4, a customized shotgun in hand.</p><p> </p><p>Zim has never been more in love with this loser.</p><p> </p><p>Someone shoves him roughly between the shoulder plates and he doesn't even give the the satisfaction of falling ; instead, he breaks into a sprint and all but leaps across the parking lot, ducking behind Dib the second he's within reach.</p><p> </p><p>"MASTER !" GIR greets him loudly from behind the wheel, and gets a pat on the head in return.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Took you long enough</em>," Zim grumbles and grabs the nearest weapon - a plasma rifle, his favorite. "<em>I'm happy to see you two</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Dib, bless his heart, doesn't seem surprised by the language shift.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>The Voot ?</em>" Zim inquires, cocking the gun a tad more aggressively than Dib in the nervous crowd's direction.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>They took it, but considering the state of the crash site, there is nothing to salvage anyway.</em>"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>," the Irken declares.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>What do you say ? Should we burn these idiots down ? Teach them a lesson ?</em>"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>What happened to 'hey maybe let's not hurt the people we promised to protect' ?</em>"</p><p> </p><p>Dib arches a calculating eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>That was before they went and captured you.</em>"</p><p> </p><p>Fair enough, in Zim's opinion.</p><p> </p><p>The bomb goes off as they drive away. Dib makes sure to put several miles between them before pulling on the side of the road, and immediately gathers Zim in his arms, checking him all over for injuries. It would be cute, if Zim wasn't sore absolutely every-fucking-where.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Did they hurt you ?</em>"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Eh, nothing much</em>," Zim shrugs. "<em>Got electrocuted a bunch of times, though. Stabbed too. And the translator is busted.</em>"</p><p> </p><p>Dib's expression turns haunted at the mention of electroshock, so Zim immediately changes the subject.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Please tell me you brought something to eat, I'm starving.</em>"</p><p> </p><p>Dib, once he's satisfied with the full body inspection, shoves a chips bag in his hands - half eaten, probably by GIR. Definitely by GIR, considering the crumbs all over his face.</p><p> </p><p>Eating, though, seems hardly an option, not with the way Dib is still half-hugging, half-octopus-choking him.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Love, I'm as fine as can be given the circumstances. Let Zim breathe, will you ?</em>"</p><p> </p><p>"Sorry," Dib sighs, and releases him.</p><p> </p><p>Zim settles back in the passenger seat, bumping his knee against Dib's thigh, and the human's hand immediately lands on it with a gentle squeeze. Hey, Dib's not the only one craving the contact - Zim's just craving food more, at the moment.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Can't believe they pulled a reverse alien abduction on me,</em>" the Irken grumbles around his mouthful of paprika chips. "<em>What is this, some sort of cheap comedy show ?! </em><em>Anyway. Once we get home, we're getting pizza, and then a nap.</em>"</p><p> </p><p>Dib hums and starts the engine again.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>And we'll ruin these bastards to the ground.</em>"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Also that, definitely</em>."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please leave kudos and comments, it feeds my determination !</p></blockquote></div></div>
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